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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28802937">i wish i was sonic the hedgehog, cool and fast</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/h4wkguy/pseuds/h4wkguy'>h4wkguy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>try the beams [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Blaseball (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, beleaguered concession stand workers, brothers that don't get symbolism but do enjoy sonic the hedgehog, hotdogs as symbolism for difficult choices</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 09:47:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,262</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28802937</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/h4wkguy/pseuds/h4wkguy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Randy's got something on his mind, the last time Dom sees him alive.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dominic Marijuana &amp; Randall Marijuana, Dominic Marijuana &amp; Randall Marijuana &amp; Lenny Marijuana</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>try the beams [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2095812</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Stare Into The Sun</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>i wish i was sonic the hedgehog, cool and fast</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>anyways, precog thoughts</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Randy's got something on his mind, the last time Dom sees him alive. He’s got that fidget in his hands and the twitch in his jaw that means he’s just on the edge of blurting something out and he’s not happy about it. It doesn’t affect his play at all, even Randy is too much of a professional for that, but Dom spends his time between at-bats mulling it over in the dugout.</p><p>Settling in with the new team, maybe. Could've watched Cosmos and freaked himself out. Ate something he shouldn't have off the ground again, perhaps. It could be nothing or it could be everything, but every bit of Dom's gut instinct as an elder sibling tells him it's something he's got to keep an eye on.</p><p>He finds Randy at a concession stand after the last game, gnawing anxiously at a beaded bracelet as he contemplates the hot dog menu with a deeply furrowed brow. </p><p>"There's a lot of choices here," he says, mangled a little by the bracelet. The beads are all clashing colors of grey, black, red, searing acid green, all loop and tied together with a bright sunshine yellow. A going away present, if he had to guess.</p><p>"It's a concession stand. They usually have some options."</p><p>Randy hums.</p><p>"What would you pick?"</p><p>"A chili dog, I guess. Like Sonic."</p><p>"Like Sonic," he confirms, nodding seriously. "I'm like Sonic. Pretty fast. Cool hero and all." He looks like he's going to cry, like the time he found out Bionicles couldn't feel love.</p><p>"Did you hit your head in the game, man?"</p><p>"No! I'm kind of queasy. It's fine," he meets the eyes of the concession worker like he's marching into battle. "I'll have a chili dog."</p><p>The worker sighs in relief and starts putting Randy's order together, the kind of beleaguered that means he’s been idling in front of the menu for far longer than Dom's seen personally. There's bustling in the line behind them, and the conscientious New Yorker in Dom tells him they ought to be getting out of the way pretty quick, but then there's a hand on his shoulder.</p><p>"Dom," says Randy, eyes solemn and frown stern, "You're like Sonic too."</p><p>“I definitely tripped over my shoelaces during the game earlier, but thanks.”</p><p>“Twice. I meant the cool hero part.”</p><p>“<i>Cool hero</i>, sure.” There’s something else here, a whole dimension to the conversation that Dom’s not picking up on and Randy’s keeping under lock and key. Suspicion crawls up his spine and sends a trickle of ice through his veins. “I’m serious, are you feeling alright?”</p><p>He opens his mouth.</p><p>“Four ninety five for the dog, sir.” A paper tray is on the counter. Randy closes his mouth, sets his jaw. He turns and has a hand half way to his pocket before a new voice pipes up.</p><p>"Excuse me," the man behind them has been waiting patiently for several minutes, but now, apropos of nothing, he takes a hesitant step forward, "Sorry, if you don't mind — ."</p><p>He's looking like he regrets speaking, anxious frown, eyes darting to the scuffed linoleum and then back again.</p><p>"I'll pay for it, if it's okay."</p><p>The brothers make bewildered eye contact, but Randy squints into the middle-distance for half a beat before he acquiesces and shifts to the side.</p><p>"Okay," he says, slow and careful, tilting his head like a confused dog, "Sure. Thank you." </p><p>The man has a forgettable face and a permanent hang dog expression, hat tilted low over his eyes. It teeters on the edge of familiar, and if Dom racks his brain enough he can recall seeing the guy after Millennials home games on just about every occasion. He's probably personally signed over a hundred autographs for him at this point.</p><p>Today he's totally decked out, Millennials cap and jersey, a Sunbeams jacket and gaudy limited edition shoes, and he has a bag rustling in his hand that's full to the brim with Jazz Hands merchandise. Dom should probably be freaked out by the dedication, but the guy apparently has some sort of overpowered downer energy about him because what he really feels is the inexplicable urge to cry.</p><p>“Sorry,” because he doesn’t want to be rude, but but he’s on track to something and this is <i>important</i>, “We were in the middle of a conversation — “</p><p>“It’s cool, Dom. It’s nothing big anyways.” He watches the back of his biggest fan’s head like it’s a puzzle, like if he watches long enough he’ll have a revelation. “You want an autograph, right?”</p><p><i>Randall Marijuana</i> is scrawled slapdash across the shoulders of the jacket, Dom's own round edges loop over the brim of the hat, now that he looks.</p><p>"Sorry," the man laughs, grips the bag just a little tighter. "I guess it's obvious. Just one. Anything from here, really, I just didn't know what to get."</p><p>Randy peruses the bag, pulls out a scarf. He grins, but it still has that weird edge that's driving Dom insane.</p><p>Then he reaches back in and retrieves a Millennials cap, in a different style than the one on the fan's head. The man ducks his head, flashes a sheepish grin that's as familiar as everything else he does. Randy just gives him a nod and waves the hat in Dom's direction.</p><p>"This one's got your name all over it. Or, like, it's gonna."</p><p><i>What's your</i> deal, Dom doesn't say to either of them.</p><p>"Right. Of course," he does say, to say something at all. </p><p><i>I know something's going on that you aren't telling me</i>, he thinks as he loops the first letter of his name.</p><p><i>I'm scared because you're acting weird as hell and I don't know if it's dangerous</i>, he dots an i, spends longer on the curve of a c than he ought to.</p><p><i>Just let me know if you need a getaway driver, or if I need to call all your friends in to talk some sense into you</i>, he zones back in, marker sitting at the end of an a and leaving an ugly mark where it bleeds into the surrounding fabric.</p><p>He blinks the fog away and raises his eyes to meet those of the fan in front of him. There's something about it that feels like looking into a mirror and it sets Dom's teeth on edge. He holds the bill and pivots the hat so the man can take the other side.</p><p>"Here." He tries a smile.</p><p>"Thank you." Then <i>he</i> tries a smile back. "Thank you," he says again when Randy presents the scarf with a little more pomp and circumstance.</p><p>He holds his prizes with an iron grip, opens and closes his mouth a few times. Then he gives them a sharp nod each and moves back to meet the crowd still filing out of the stadium and is gone in an instant.</p><p>"<i>Sir</i>." They only remember the poor harried concession worker when their voice causes both brothers to startle violently. "<i>Your food</i>."</p><p>Randy grabs his chili dog in between bouts of profuse apologies, and Dom shovels all the cash he has on hand into the tip jar both in solidarity and in shame. </p><p>"I should go," says Randy before Dom can start asking questions again, "join back up with the team." He salutes with his paper tray and turns on his heel to go without another word.</p><p>"Wait," blurts Dom, afraid. "When the season's over, let's catch up again. We can go for some real food."</p><p>Randy doesn't turn around.</p><p>"Sure. We'll meet up again later."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>randy sees lenny and it's like two forces are clashing in his minds eye, knowing and not knowing scraping up against each other with only the smallest windows of clarity. but sometimes he recalls the sensation of a large hand pressing a too-big hat onto his head. sometimes he remembers a comforting baritone that says theyre proud of him.</p><p>if i read this tomorrow and decide i hate it pretend u didnt see it</p></blockquote></div></div>
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